7.x (Interlude; Hannah)
<Walk!> the soldier barked, jabbing his gun between Hana’s shoulder blades. She stumbled forward, into the trees and thorny shrubs. Seven years of relative peace in their secluded village had ended in screams and gunfire. Now, alongside nine other children, she was forced into the woods, a pathfinder for the enemy soldiers.
The village’s traps, meant for defense, were now a deadly maze. Kovan, a boy she knew, had already fallen victim to a stake-filled pit. Another, Ashti, had triggered an explosive. Hana pressed on, hyperaware of every rustle and twig, tears blurring her vision.
She stopped, a sense of dread washing over her. <Walk!> the soldier demanded again. But her feet were rooted, a certainty of death with each step.
Then, she saw it. Something vast, beyond comprehension. A living entity, extending into countless echoes of itself, dying, flaking apart as it moved through an unfathomable void. A fragment, like a falling moon, loomed in her mind, then vanished.
The memory faded, leaving only a trace. But it broke her paralysis. She lifted her foot to step - and stopped. A shimmering blur of black and green hung in the air. She touched it, and a weight settled in her palm. A gun, familiar from the guerrilla fighters.
I can’t use this, she thought. But it morphed into a silenced version. An impossible chance.
<Walk!>
She turned, aimed, and fired.
Hannah woke with a gasp. This is why I don’t sleep.
She was still in her costume, the American flag-themed Miss Militia. She was the only one who remembered the entity. Others forgot, if they ever saw it. Her power, she suspected, had taken parts of her psyche and given them form. Her knife was her dreams and sleep. When she did sleep, she remembered, replaying events in perfect detail.
She’d killed the soldiers, saved seven of the ten children. They swore to keep her gift a secret. Evacuated by the guerrillas, they were sent to the UK, then split up. When she was sent to America, her weapon was discovered. Interrogated, then rescued by an American soldier, she was placed with a family. When the first Wards teams were established, she joined. She learned English, became Hannah, took a new last name.
She washed her face, the perfect teeth a reminder of how different this life was. Bright lights, conveniences, complaints about trivial matters. She’d learned to nod and sympathize. She’d grown to love this country, its freedoms and ideals, despite its flaws. She would never speak of what she’d seen. Others would judge, offer different interpretations. She clung to her faith, the idea of a benign entity, not wanting to consider darker possibilities.
It was 6:30 AM. She donned her scarf, her weapon morphing into an assault rifle. She found Armsmaster in his workshop, having worked through the night. Dragon’s voice came from the computer.
“Trouble sleeping?” Dragon asked.
“I don’t sleep,” Hannah confessed. “Not since I got my powers.”
“Me either,” Dragon replied.
Armsmaster showed off a new weapon enhancement, a vibrating blade that could cut through steel. They discussed the impending restructuring of the Protectorate and Wards. Aegis was being transferred, Weld was coming in, and two others had to go. They settled on a plan: propose Shadow Stalker and Kid Win, with Browbeat and Clockblocker as backups.
Then, a folder. “Congratulations,” Armsmaster said, handing it to her. She was being promoted, taking command of the team. Armsmaster was being demoted, sent to Chicago, while Myrddin stayed. The politics of it, Armsmaster explained. He wasn’t good at it.
“I’m sorry,” she said, knowing how much he wanted it.
“It’s fine,” he said, but it wasn’t. He turned to his computer. “Dragon, that program… predicting class S threats… I made modifications… HS203… look at this.”
Dragon was already on it. “I see it… linking to atmospheric shifts…”
Hannah looked at the screen. A map, a rainbow cloud. “This doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Nothing’s truly random,” Armsmaster explained. Dragon’s early warning system for Endbringers. They followed rules, drawn to vulnerability.
He zoomed in. “…Or ongoing conflict,” Hannah finished. “The ABB, Empire Eighty-Eight… It’s coming here? Now?”
“The data is good,” Dragon confirmed.
“Good enough to call for help?”
“Good enough.”
Armsmaster flipped a switch. Air raid sirens blared. “Dragon, contact everyone. Miss Militia, recruit the locals. We need a place to gather.”
“Yes sir!” she said, a glimmer of something in his eyes. Hope?